Sparkle (11 page)

“Five-game batting averages, Tampa Bay,” he said softly. “Conseco, Flaherty, McGriff.”

At the other end of the bar, LaVonne glanced over and smiled as she poured Joe’s beer. He had been a regular ever since she’d started the job, nights and weekends, working her way through graduate school in small business at Seattle University. Her dream was to start a restaurant of her own someday. Something small, quiet, and intimate—nothing at all like the Ravenna.

LaVonne didn’t think of herself as open. A huge part of herself, glaring parts of her past, were anything but happy. Staying positive, staying active, and staying connected—they were all real parts of her personality. But they didn’t come easily. She worked at them because they served a purpose: keeping her safe from things she was determined to leave behind forever. She liked being with people, right in the middle where everyone could see her. That felt safe.

LaVonne had seen plenty of unusual characters at the Ravenna, and Joe was definitely one of them. But he was the best-looking oddball she’d ever seen: tall and serious, with deep brown eyes and a long scar down his face that made him look rugged and mysterious.

Joe might think he was hiding it, but he wore his pain, his disappointments, and his struggles right there on his sleeve in a way that had intrigued LaVonne from the start.

Her curiosity had really been piqued the first time Joe brought in his brother for burgers and a midweek game. After that, LaVonne had managed to tease out a few scraps of Joe’s life story in brief, mumbled snippets.

Eventually, over months and months, she had come to see her handsome, distracted, gruff customer in a different light. No matter how hard Joe worked at being a loner, with his tapes and his notes, he was essentially a good guy. That was important. LaVonne had seen the care and dedication he showed toward Eddie, and despite his superficial grump, she couldn’t imagine him hurting her. She’d been hurt badly in the past, and hadn’t gone out with anyone in a long time. But Joe had gotten under her skin, and she’d had all the time in the world to consider the possibility of getting together with him.

He sure as hell wasn’t going to make the first move.

“Woo-hoo! Yeah!” she shouted as the Mariners got a double and the patrons clapped. “You go, Ichiro! Come on, people,” she said to the dozen or so patrons scattered around. “Let’s hear it in here!”

LaVonne wasn’t loud by nature. Getting the crowd going was a stretch for her. But hyped patrons and a winning day meant more sales. And more sales meant more tips and more job security.

Joe, of course, never cheered. In fact, he rarely changed his expression. LaVonne set down his beer and water. She reached down the bar and slid a fresh ashtray in front of him.

“What’s the matter, Joe?” she asked, rubbing the bar with a towel. “You look worried.”

He forced a tight-lipped smile and looked at her shoulder.

“Nothing,” he said. He held his breath, rubbed the back of his neck, and tapped his cigarette nervously on the ashtray.

“Yeah? Well, cheer up or ship out,” LaVonne said. “That’s an order.” She headed down the bar.

“Okay.” Joe really wanted to talk to her, but first he had to figure out what was going on with the Mariners. They were heating up, no doubt about it.

But something wasn’t right.

Even Ichiro’s double. Ichiro generally hit singles, more than any player in the history of baseball, in fact. Doubling would conventionally be considered a good thing from him. The only problem was that this was an accidental double. None of the managers or the Tampa Bay fielders noticed, but Joe saw Ichiro pull his swing ever so slightly. The ball bounced off the bat not at all as Ichiro had planned. It was off by nearly twenty-five degrees.

Nobody was as surprised as Ichiro when the ball slipped through between the first baseman and the bag, almost causing an error in far right field. Ichiro seemed to uncharacteristically hesitate at first, and nearly got thrown out at second.

And Martinez’ knee. It wasn’t an injury exactly, but something was off. Way off. Joe had noticed a weakness in just about every M he’d seen come to the plate.

They’re tired. They’re slowing down, and it’s only the top of the third.

“Another big hit for the Mariners,” said the television announcer, over the happy murmur of the small crowd. “Looks like Tampa Bay’s in trouble today.”

Joe looked thoughtfully at the monitor. “I wouldn’t say that,” he mumbled.

Innings passed. Joe took notes. He checked his schedule. He smoked and drank his beer. At 11:30, he ordered a sandwich and a salad. LaVonne was busy. The place was getting packed, and the Mariners were pulling further ahead. By the bottom of the fifth inning the score was six to nothing, and the Ravenna buzzed with conversation punctuated by occasional shouts.

Joe downed the remains of his second beer. He dialed Detective Louis.

“Louis,” he said, “you listening to the game? Feel like making a late bet? No, the Ms are gonna lose. I’ll bet you twenty bucks Tampa Bay’s going to win today. Yes, I’m serious. No, I’m not going to give you a spread. You on?” He hung up. “Dumb-ass.” He was surprised Louis was still willing to bet with him. The guy hadn’t won one yet. Detective Bjorgeson—Pinky— she asked Joe one time why he never offered her a bet. He’d mumbled something unintelligible, unable to admit he didn’t want to take money from a lady. He was old fashioned that way.

LaVonne had overheard. She gave him a look.

“Please don’t tell me you’re betting against the Mariners.”

Joe, doing his best to look cool, scribbled something in his notebook. “Well, yeah. I guess I am.”

“You noticed they’re kicking butt?”

“Depends on what you’re looking at.”

Now that he’d determined what was going on with the Ms and had made his bet, the game was suddenly much less interesting, and he wanted nothing more than a few minutes of friendly conversation with LaVonne.

But as usual, he didn’t know how.

He put out his cigarette. It was interfering with her perfume. “I just…I j-j-just look at things differently, I guess.”

LaVonne found herself turning to look up at the TV, and briefly wondered just what Joe had seen up there. Then she caught herself and looked back at him. She was determined to talk to him today—really talk to him. But she was almost overwhelmed with uncharacteristic shyness. They looked at each other for a moment. Joe fumbled with his pack of Pall Malls.

“You want another beer?” LaVonne knew he did.

“No, I’d better not. I have to go get Eddie pretty soon.” Think. Say something normal. “So, how’s your school and all? You l-l-look nice and rested for all the hours you’re working.” Joe forced his mouth shut before he could say anything more.

“I’m good, Joe. School’s great. It doesn’t tire me out. I love it.” LaVonne wiped the bar, carefully considering what to say next. Her mouth was dry. She gave Joe a clean ashtray and waited. Joe always had three beers: two pints and a schooner. “You sure you don’t want one more, Joe?”

“Ah, what the hell,” Joe said finally, as the room seemed to go silent and the silence became intolerable. “Give me a schooner.”

As she served the Redhook, LaVonne decided this might be her last chance for another long week to give up the secret she was carrying. Her heart beat faster. She was more nervous than she could remember being in a long time.

“How’s that sweet brother of yours?” she began.

Joe looked down and shuffled some of his things. He knew LaVonne was just trying to make conversation, but thinking about Eddie right now made him feel as if a huge weight had been put on him. “Great,” he muttered into his beer. “Best damn blood-and-guts guy in town.”

“That makes it sound horrible, Joe.”

“What’s horrible? Eddie’s happy, cops are happy, customers are happy. Everybody’s happy.”

“You don’t sound too happy.”

Joe looked up from his papers, right at LaVonne. He tried hard to smile. He wanted to open up to her, but it felt hopeless, and the hopelessness made him angry.

“Why not?” he asked, sounding unintentionally sarcastic. “I’m thirty-five years old. I live with my brother. He’s got problems. And he pays my bills.”

LaVonne was aiming for new territory, and Joe wasn’t making it easy.

She lowered her voice and leaned slightly toward him, determined. “C’mon, Joe, who you talking to?”

Joe looked down again. If only his mouth were connected to his brain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He’d said too much. Way too much. “Eddie’s my family. We’re cool. Everything’s cool.”

Joe knew exactly what was going to happen next. LaVonne would say something nice, something conventional, and glide away down the bar. The next time he came in, she’d avoid him like the plague.

Maybe she’d never speak to him again.

“Could you look at me for a minute, Joe? Please?”

I could look at you all day. “What?” Joe sounded slightly irritated. He glanced up and then around, as though someone were trying to tie him up.

LaVonne was patient. “I’ve known you long enough to know it goes both ways. You’ve given up a lot for Eddie.”

“I make sure he gets what he needs,” Joe said.

“Uh-huh,” LaVonne said. “I know you do. But are you getting what you need?”

Joe was floored. “Long story,” he managed finally.

“Maybe you should tell me sometime.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Joe took a deep swig off his beer, spilling a spoonful on his chin. Cool.

LaVonne paused and appraised him. Unfortunately, this was probably as good as it was going to get.

“Okay, so you don’t feel like talking,” she said. “But I do. I feel like talking to you, Joe. And not here. So maybe you should ask me out.”

Joe choked on his beer. He looked up, coughing. “What?” he said.

“You know. Ask me.”

She felt relieved. Her cards were on the table. She’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. She handed Joe a wad of napkins.

“Clean that up,” she added, nodding at the beer he’d spilled.

The Mariners scored, leaving two on, and the crowd erupted into applause. Saved by Mike Cameron.

“All right!” LaVonne shouted. “Let’s bring ’em home!”

Joe couldn’t speak.

LaVonne gave him one last, arrestingly serious look before moving down the bar toward another patron.

Chapter 17

Eddie was determined to save the rest of the day and his determination was a powerful force. It was tough ignoring the distractions that were hammering at him, but he’d come up with a stopgap that seemed to be working. Maybe things wouldn’t be super special today, but at the very least he could make it as good as any other Saturday with Jolie—and that would be good enough.

He’d held the voices at bay with a mental trick. He’d set a few thoughts of his own—doubts—working against them: Maybe the nagging unfamiliar discomfort he was feeling wasn’t urgency. Maybe it was something altogether different. Eddie was an expert at being patient. Maybe that was what he needed to do now.

Eddie would pretend it was just any other zoo day. He would fall back into his regular, comfortable zoo routine as though nothing had gone amiss.

Once he got home he’d have another full week to mull things over. Maybe he had misinterpreted his dream. It had never happened before— but he had, he reminded himself, chosen to plunge into completely unfamiliar territory.

And there was Jolie’s birthday. That was definitely something special.

The plan was good, but implementing it took a lot of strength. As wonderful as they were, Eddie was having a hard time concentrating on the intelligent interested chimps clowning on the other side of the glass.

His discomfort rose abruptly as Jolie’s boss arrived at the exhibit leading a gaggle of noisy schoolchildren and launched loudly into the guidebook spiel.

Eddie knew Mark liked Jolie. The first time he’d seen the two of them talking, he knew. And even though Eddie was incapable of jealousy, he didn’t like Mark. He didn’t like the way he smelled, didn’t like his voice, didn’t like anything about him. It wasn’t an aversion, exactly, just extreme disinterest.

Today, though, Mark’s stringent, vaguely nasal voice, raised over the gabble of the school kids, hurt Eddie’s ears. The zoo was noisy on Saturday. Most of it was just a rich and pleasantly alive gabble. But Mark’s voice seemed to squeal unpleasantly, too high for normal human hearing. As Mark moved closer, Eddie was overwhelmed by an urge to move away. He hadn’t spent the right amount of time with the chimps but decided, once again, to go off-plan.

It really was a difficult and disturbing day.

Eddie was careful. He backed slowly away from the glass, turned abruptly on his heel and headed for the snake house.

Jolie glanced over at Mark. She knew Eddie well enough to realize this was an unscheduled departure.

Mark shot Jolie an arch, sympathetic look.

“Jolie,” he half-shouted over the noisy kids, “Everything okay?”

Jolie smiled briefly and nodded her head. Then she followed Eddie in quickstep.

In the soft humid warmth and pleasing dim light of the snake house, Eddie felt a bit safer. He watched as an enormous torpid python crawled up the glass and bobbed his head in greeting. This was a good place, one of Eddie’s favorite stops. The snakes were amazing creatures that almost always became active when Eddie was standing nearby.

But Eddie didn’t feel that much better. Threatening wisps of chaos were forming everywhere, wafting through the air. They looked like smoke, like dirty little opaque clouds. They gave off a sickly cold chill. Chaos meant too much stimulation, and too much stimulation shut Eddie down. Then he had no self-control or memory. Then he had to go wherever his thoughts dragged him. He didn’t like that at all.

He forced himself to pay attention to the python. Jolie was there, right where she should be. But Eddie’s ears were still ringing with Mark’s voice when Mark himself walked up and touched Jolie on the shoulder.

She jumped. Some of Eddie’s silent tension had rubbed off on her. “Hey, Mark. What are you doing?”

Eddie began to softly touch his hair. Mark didn’t seem to notice.